Muse Wars: Many Coloured Love

He gazed down upon the much-loved, lined face and saw not the septagenarian of today, but the vibrant twenty-something of yesteryear. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. It was not her beauty which caught his attention, but the infectious laughter which rang out across the square.  Not a delicate ladylike giggle, no, rather a deep belly laugh from some hidden depth within the Vivien Leigh exterior.

A myriad of coloured ribbons fluttered behind her like a glorious halo of rainbow lorrikeets suspended mid-flight. Laughing, giggling, guffawing, head thrown back, she brushed past him in a mist of musk and vanilla, vanishing down the worn stone stairs before he could think of any excuse to detain her. Disappearing from his lonely life almost as fast as she had garnered his attention in the first place.

A rasp of faltering breath brought him back to the reality of the sterile hospital room as her green eyes fluttered open briefly, he clasped her cold hand tighter between his. The once rosy cupid lips moved in a short-lived tentative wan smile, then she drifted back into the pain-free oblivion of medicated sleep.

Ron allowed one single tear to escape from his brimming eyes, then he rubbed the evidence away with the back of his thickly veined hand. He did not want Patsy to see him crying if she managed to open her eyes once more, he needed to be strong for her. He had always been the strong one. Exhaustion gradually overcame his weary body, and he dozed. His gray head beside hers upon the pillow, body perched on the chair edge, fingers tightly clasped to pull her back to him if need be.

In the early hours of the frozen dawn he awoke to the twitching of her swollen fingers.  The still thick eyelashes moved much as stage curtains do on opening night, swishing to reveal confused emerald eyes. They slowly cleared as her dazed gaze swept the room before meeting his wide-eyed ecstatic look.

"Ronaldo?" Rusty disused vocal chords faintly rasped his name. Never had it sounded so beautiful.

"Si, Patrizia." He smiled, hugging her forearm, and bringing the back of her hand to his dried lips.

"You found me?"

"I found you. I promised I would always find you no matter how fast you ran in your rainbow dress."

Tears welled, not only in the sets of aged eyes, but also blurred the vision of the two jaded care-givers standing just beyond the doorway.

"Oh, how sweet Paula. Aren't they a lovely old couple? Sometimes I just love this job." The matronly buxom blonde used the tip of her sleeve to try to stop mascara smudged eyes leaking down her cheeks.

Her companion wiped her wet face with an already soggy handerchief pulled from her pocket. "You have no idea Jen, this is quite the love story.

Ron met Patsy in the free-loving sixties in a little Italian village near Sienna. She was running from her arranged marriage ceremony, and he only caught a glimpse of her as she bolted past. It was love at first sight for him, but he thought he'd never find her again. He took years to track her down."

"Ooh, a tragic star-crossed love story. I love those! Did he chase her and woo her, fight off the evil fiance to marry her himself and whisk her away to a better life here?"

The brunette sighed, and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "It's quite the story. Look, I'll meet you in the courtyard in half an hour for our lunch break. It's too long to tell you now, I'll fill you in then."

The blonde grinned, nodded and walked to the next room. Paula met the bemused gazes of the room's occupants listening in to the conversation. She winked and left.

"If only they knew the truth, eh Patsy?"

"Oh Ronaldo, my Ronaldo."

"Shh sweetie, I promised you I would find you and take care of it all."

He knew the staff had romaticised the elderly twosome. He had known it from the moment Patsy had been brought into emergency with him by her side, refusing to leave it for even a moment.

"We had some great times over the years, hey,  sweet green eyes?"

"Si Ronaldo, some very special times. God was good to bring you into my life."

"Are you sure Patsy? Is this really what you want?"

"Ronaldo you promised, you gave me your word on that mountainside. You took a solemn oath, remember." The green eyes, now dim with age, were sure in their conviction. "You promised."

Eyes met, gazes held. Years of binding memories flowed past.

Ronald slowly walked to the cupboard and pulled out a spare pillow. She smiled trustingly up at him as he firmly placed it over her face, not struggling, lying serenely accepting this final gift of love. He held it down, using all of his strength as he watched the clock on the wall slowly, painstakingly count off the minutes. Five...ten...finally he lifted the pillow after fifteen long minutes had passed. Her eyes stared unseeingly to the ceiling, her lips, whilst blue, smiled. She appeared so peaceful and the deep lines of pain were gone, vanquished by his final action.

Ronald kissed her cold lips, wiped the solitary tear from his cheek, and walked out of the room. He strode down the corridor, out the entrance and marched calmly for blocks until he found the park. Not once did he falter, nor look back. He followed the meandering tracks until he found the flowering, flowing hillside gardens. He climbed to the top. Under the autumn colours of the shedding chinese maple, he sat and finally allowed himself to remember.

The chattering of children had lightly covered the more agitated grumbling and arguing from the adults. The jilted groom and his family became louder and louder as all parties realised the bride had fled permanently. Ronald understood so little Italian, but it was obvious that angry, bitter recriminations were flowing freely. He looked down the tiny path she had fled on. Not even a ripple of leaves hinted at her trail, she was gone. Vanished. His heart felt... lessened yet heavier. He heaved the backpack higher and turned to continue his journey.

It was three years before their paths crossed again. Fate, well he liked to think so. He had returned to Italy annually, never admitting to himself he was searching, hoping. Yet each trip he studied every titan-haired women who passed by him, looking intently for her familiar face, never owning to himself that he had no real memories of her looks, merely the echoing sound of her loud laugh of freedom.

Again he found himself heading north, past Siena, through San Gimignano -  the place she had grabbed hold of his heart so suddenly -  on up to Cinque Terre, the place of the rambling villages and soaring cliffs.

He knew not what drew him, but something about the romance of these five terrace towns appealed to his captive heart. He booked into one of the many pensiones mentioned in his tattered guide book, and then wandered out into the twilight to explore.

Ron walked the Levanto streets until thirst drove him into a small cafe hidden in the corner of the piazza. The dimness made him pause in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Laughter broke out from the corner table, one woman's deep bray and his heart stopped beating. He froze, not wanting to believe until he could see for himself. The minutes seemed to drag endlessly as sight slowly cleared. Her russet hair fell onto her face as it rested in her hands and she tried to quell the uncontrolled giggling. Something in the manner of the stranger in the doorway seemed to make her pause and slowly her bright green gaze lifted to join his.

Still writing, this story has captured me and grown beyond the Muse War. Will slug away until done...

Sincerely, Miss. Saunders...

The italic blue part of this story is the key challenge given by Corrie at Just Because My Pickle Talks. Her request was that others write a beginning or an end or both. For me I see what she has written as a perfect beginning and so I will add an end.

All writing and short story challenges will now be posted on this blog as my main blog was becoming rather cluttered with them. And in reality, this blog is a far more appropriate place.

 Klaus Bythiner

More than half-way back in the large sanctuary, a man quietly stood. He was dressed in a simple tan dress shirt, no tie, and khakis, no belt. Although not in uniform, no one could conceive he wasn't a uniform type based upon his straight posture, his stance and his crew cut. He stood neither at attention nor at a parade rest, but something in between with his hands folded at his lower torso.

"I beg your pardon. I don't have an objection per se. But before the ceremony proceeds, I feel an obligation to answer a question Ms. Saunders once posed to me," he spoke quietly, but his voice carried throughout the old chapel.

The room of over one thousand people was eerily silent. The bride and groom turned around to face the sole standing man. From his neutral color choice to his average height and looks to his military styled sandy blond hair, there was nothing about him that would command the attention of this otherwise socially elite gathering of witnesses. Yet, at this point, every eye and ear was turned to him and waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Miss. Saunders, you asked me once if I was paying attention. I lied at the time. I'm an honorable man. What is given to me to protect and return, I cannot take. But what is given to me to protect and keep, I will fight to retain. Any of the men and women I've trained will tell you I won't leave anyone behind. I'm always at the end of their life line," he paused never taking his eyes off the bride.

"If I've misinterpreted the messages I've received, I apologize, extend my well wishes to the bride and groom and will take my seat," he spoke with dignity but no emotion. He continued standing as if he awaited a response. The thousand visitors remained stunned into silence.

The bride stood looking at the back of the room until the groom demanded, "What is he talking about?"

She turned to look at the groom for a moment, then removed her engagement ring and handed it back to him without a word. She dropped the flower bouquet on to the ground, gathered up her wedding dress and began moving quickly to the rear of the church...

... "I thought you weren't coming, I thought you lied." Her clear, lilting voice rang through the silent, still crowd. A collective sigh was sent up to the saints captured on the church ceiling. The standing man slowly raised his bowed head to bring his eyes to meet her sharp crystal blue gaze. A smile hesitently played around his grey lips.

"I did not lie, Miss. Saunders, when I made my promise. My only sin was a lie of omission when you told me of your plans. I did not maintain my attention and I missed the part where relayed this scheme. I did not take all you told me seriously, a grave mistake on my part. I am here to rectify that error."

"Merideth, I demand you tell me who this man is and what he is talking about! I am your husband and you will answer me!" The groom charged up the aisle his body shaking in indignation and anger. He reached the spot where she stood and leant forward to agitatedly shake his finger in her face. "Now, I tell you! NOW!"

The captive audience remained frozen as the tableau played on, not even the bejewelled attendants dared move to break this incredulous, theatrical scene unfolding before them. The three main players betrayed the only movement within the large church.

The bride slowly drew up the antique, chantilly lace veil with shaking fingers. Painstakingly the lace curtain rose, and she turned to her irate husband to be, "Herbert, count yourself lucky you are not my husband as yet. For if you were, you would be bound to accompany me..."

The congregation rose as one, shrill screams split the sacred surrounds, mass hysteria and panic propelled the guests into terrifying action. The church doors burst open as the horrified crowd escaped the confines of the sanctuary running from the tainted ceremony.

The man stood soldier-straight, solitary within the pews. "Now Meredeath, you know I cannot take responsibility for anyone other than you unless you are bound together in marriage." He took a cigarette from his top-pocket and lit it with a flick of his calloused fingers.

The bride turned to her shaking groom. "Still want to claim me as your bride Herbert? You can decide to come with me, just as I chose to go with George many years ago. He did not take me seriously enough, but you will, won't you?"

Her ashen-faced companion shuddered in revulsion as he gazed at her white, worn face. The vibrant, beautiful woman he had coveted was no more, instead he faced a hollow shell of shadowed splendour, evil seeping through the still crystal blue eyes. It was the only dash of colour remaining in her now malevolent aura.

"Now Meredeath, don't toy with the man. I tole you ah was sorry." The southern tone dripped through his chilling words, the good old boy act emphasising the soothing tone. George reached for the pale hand of the ghost-bride. "Ah won't evah believe you meant to leave me forever, ah just won't. As ah said before, what is given to me to protect and keep, ah will fight to retain. I won't leave anyone behind. Ah was at the end of your life line, and so you are mine to keep. You don't need the likes of him." He flicked a column of ash at the quivering Herbert, disdain dripping from the fleeting look he threw at the puddle appearing on the floor between the groom's shaking legs.

"George, if you ever ignore me again I will return here and abandon our ghostly realm forever. You know if it had been any later and we had been joined in holy ceremony, it would be solely my choice if I were to return to you or remain here?  My deal with Satan gave me the power to return to the living if I found a worthy soul to return with at the end of our lives."

"Ah know Meredeath, ah know. As soon as I received your message ah came." Blood silently seeped through the left side of his shirt where the bullet of eons before had pierced his heart. He reached for his bride-to-be's other hand, turning her to him. Blood dripped from the open slashes above each of her frail wrists, trickling over their joined hands. With a gurgled gag the nearly groom crumbled to the floor, lying in his own bodily fluids.

Without a second glance at the prostrate figure at their feet, the ghostly duo gazed at each other, then turned towards the entrance of the church, vanishing with a grim ghostly scream of pleasure well before they reached the door.